


In sickness and health

by darkmoore



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 05:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4552575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmoore/pseuds/darkmoore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's sick with alien-flu and Rodney just wants to make him feel better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In sickness and health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



> For Bru, who is a never ending source of encouragement. She prompted me, so this is for her. She also did the beta. (be warned that this is quite a bit more fluffy than I'm usually doing). In any case this story only exists because of Bru.  
> BRU, you rock!

John pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and curled into himself. God he hurt. That nasty not-quite-flu virus he’d picked up on PXT-792 made his whole body ache. Even his scalp felt sore, his hair pulling painfully every time he moved. Carson said he’d be back to normal soon enough and to treat it like the regular flu – rest, painkillers, fluids, the works. But even after a week of bed-rest and meds, he still felt like hell. The rapid typing coming from the other side of the room stopped and John knew that if he cared to look, he’d see Rodney frowning at him. 

“You okay, John?” Rodney asked, sounding worried. “Do you need anything? Something to drink? Another painkiller? Are you cold?” Rodney closed the laptop and came over to the bed, his blue eyes focusing sharply on John. 

“’m fine,” John said, his voice raspy. He hated this. All of it. How it made him feel weak and vulnerable in ways he wasn’t used to. John just didn’t get sick very often. Shot at, or stabbed, or almost blown up, sure. But that was different. He’d be knocked out and kept under for a few days, waking up to one part of his body hurting like a motherfucker and being put on the good meds. This? This was something else entirely. And it sucked, big time. 

Rodney snorted. “Of course you’re fine. Why did I even bother asking?” He sighed and then, to John’s surprise, sat down on the bed beside him. He placed a gentle hand onto John’s shoulder, above the blanket and studied John’s face for a moment. 

John wasn’t sure he liked the close scrutiny. He had to look awful. He hadn’t shaved in a while, thanks to being unable to stand upright any longer than for a very quick shower. A shower he wasn’t even allowed to take without a nurse being present so he wouldn’t hit his head and bleed to death in his own bathroom. His eyes hurt as much as the rest of his body, and surely his hair was sticking to his head in a really unflattering way, seeing he’d run a fever again just a few hours ago. At least he wasn’t contagious any more. 

John pulled his blanket up to his nose and pressed deeper into his pillow, hoping to hide how thoroughly miserable he felt. For all of his usually social obliviousness, Rodney could be scarily perceptive when it came to John and the things John desperately wanted to hide from him. Things like the overwhelming longing to be held. The feeling of a warm body next to him, holding him close, offering comfort. Shelter, for a little while. 

“I wish you’d let me help,” Rodney said softly. He sighed again before he gently pulled the blanket away from John’s face and tucked it under his chin. “You know, you don’t have to be all stoic, heroic … martyr … about it. I’d like to help make you feel better, John. You’re not alone in this.” 

“I can’t ask this of you,” John finally said after a long while. He could still remember every single time his father had ranted and yelled at Dave and him for being a bother, after their mother had died. How they should man up, get over themselves, stop whining. Big boys didn’t cry, didn’t ask for a cuddle when they were hurt, didn’t need stuffed animals or woobies to keep them safe at night. It just wasn’t done. 

“You’re not asking, though. I’m offering,” Rodney patiently corrected and the compassion, the warmth, in his voice made John tear up. He shouldn’t need this. Shouldn’t long for Rodney’s solid form to curl around, his arms to hold him. It was selfish and stupid and childish, and not a behavior fit for a grown man and Colonel in the Air Force. John knew that. It didn’t stop the longing though. 

A small sob escaped John and he instantly hated himself for it, for being weak, for _wanting_. 

“In sickness and health, remember?” Rodney asked and the hand that started to stroke John’s head was infinitely tender and careful not to hurt him in any way. It made John feel even worse. He didn’t deserve any of this. Rodney shouldn’t have to deal with his sick, sorry ass. 

“We’re not married,” John pointed out, forcing himself to swallow around the lump that had taken hold in his throat. “You don’t have to do this. Go back to your lab. Get some work done while I’m stuck here, so I can’t distract you.”

Rodney rubbed his hands over his face and then pinched the bridge of his nose. There was a thoroughly unhappy look on his face when he focused on John again. “What’s it gonna take for you to believe me that I’m exactly where I want to be? The lab can wait. The experiments can wait. I don’t fucking care if they blow up all of their equipment. If they can’t manage to do their jobs without me holding their hand 24/7 then they shouldn’t be here. End of story. And for the record – we might as well consider ourselves married what with the dozens of rituals and ceremonies we’ve gone through over the years. Just missing the Earth one to make it official. So don’t be an ass about it and stop trying to get rid of me.”

John stared at him, the aches of his body momentarily forgotten. Rodney considered them married? Then something else occurred to him. “You proposing?” he asked. He hated how small his voice sounded. Small and hopeful. 

Rodney smiled. “Don’t be ridiculous. When I propose to you, you’re gonna be healthy instead of stuck in bed and only half lucid from pain and exhaustion. I’m going to go on one knee and ask you to spend the rest of our – admittedly potentially short – lives together. I got it all planned out already. And now, would you please tell me how you really feel? What do you need, John?” Rodney’s voice had gone softer and softer towards the end until it was merely a whisper.

John felt his resolve give. “Hold me?” he asked, expecting to be rejected, to be told that Rodney was thinking more along the lines of pain meds or a cool cloth to wipe his burning face. After all, who would get in bed to snuggle with a grown man while he was sick with the flu? It was a ridiculous thought.

To John’s surprise, Rodney smiled at him warmly and said, “I can do that.” He pulled off his shoes and stepped out of his pants before he lifted the bed covers and slipped into bed beside John, dressed only in his t-shirt. 

“Come here, you idiot,” Rodney chided softly when John didn’t move for a second, too surprised by Rodney’s willingness to indulge him. “It’s not exactly a hardship to get into bed with you, you know? Not even when you’re sick and acting like I’m the Spanish inquisition. I love you. What did you think I was gonna do? Abandon you and come back when you’re not sick any more? You should know me better than that by now. Seriously, did that virus give you brain damage or something? No, don’t answer that. Rhetorical question. Try to get some sleep. I’ve got you,” Rodney said and carefully wrapped his arms around John. 

After a second, John relaxed and let himself be held. It didn’t matter that Rodney had mock-insulted him. He was there, in his bed, holding him. And he loved John. Everything else was unimportant anyway.


End file.
